The Global Times
by Fate4Destiny
Summary: A bunch of events, mostly modern, done with a Hetalia twist. One-shot collection. Variety of characters. Major characters so far: China, Japan, England, Canada, Switzerland, America, France
1. Chapter 1

This is a collection of drabbles based on events that happen in the world. I'm going to try to use modern examples and events, and try to use real information, but since it's Hetalia, they become slightly... twisted and mixed up...

**warning**: I am Canadian, so ya, a lot of these stories will involve Canada and the events are Canadian. But I'm also not going to try to make it solely Canada. May focus on events that aren't exactly nice... May contain blood, etc.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Hetalia or the events mentioned. I may put my opinion in place through out the drabbles. This applies for all of the stories in this series. And OC mentioned by me is my OC.

I love comments, even if it's flames. If you're flaming I'll make the best of it and whip out a bag of marshmallows to roast.


	2. Chapter 2: China and Japan trade deals

Topic: China/ Japan trade deals; Hong Kong 'betrayel'

"Panda!"

China's face broke out in a large grin as the panda came swaying over to him.

Beside him Japan stood respectful, wondering briefly how long such meetings would take and remembered the last time China spoke with the two of them nearby.

Japan was dressed in his formal military outfit, pure white with golden accents. He came back to China to speak about regulations concerning trade between the two. China dealt with manufacturing, but lacked in the technology he could pass on. It would be mutual beneficial, they decided. Besides, it would be easier to cross one sea than an ocean to sell their products.

China began hugging the bear which was almost his own size.

"Remember nii-chan, Panda?"

The panda looked blankly at Japan who gave a polite bow.

"Panda-san, pleasure to see you again."

Still the panda was silent. China felt his grin stay on his face for long enough. It slowly fell. Panda then surprised him, taking his younger brother in his arms and giving it a bear hug. China's grin returned.

"Alright, aru~! Now that we're all friends, we can get through this meeting, aru."

Japan felt smothered and slowly tried to shift out of the soft yet deathly firm grip. The panda mistook this for nuzzling which he returned almost too eagerly. China still grinned and led them into his house. Japan found himself picked up by the black and white bear, clutching the soft fur in faint fear of falling. A deep blush went across his cheeks as his feet no longer touched ground and the panda began swaggering after China.

Once inside the room, Japan gave a bow to panda.

"Thank you for your help, Panda-san. But China-san and I have to get some work done mow. In private."

China frowned at Japan's words as Panda slowly walked out. Japan then glanced at his dubbed older brother.

"Did you want Panda-san to stay?"

China sat down and then stared blankly at his hands, flooding himself in memories. True, Japan had always been the younger sibling with more independence than the others, but still.

"China-san? Not even China-jii? And China and I? Are becoming even more influenced by England? What did I say about him?"

Japan slowly sat down and then bowed his head. China's voice had travelled a bit to the dark side and Japan tried to explain.

"I am trying to open up to other nations."

"Any nation but him. Look at what he did to Hong Kong, aru."

Japan didn't have a response. Hong Kong had hurt him to. They grew up together, both wanting to show China how strong they could he on their own. They bonded over it but Hong Kong left completely, adopted by England. Japan knew China was hurt deeply at the thought that his little brother, the only one related by blood, having been 'taken away' at such a young age.

"Hong Kong came back though."

"But doesn't want a thing to do with me. He just wants to be more Western and copied all their ideas on economics... Are you going to do that to?"

China sounded defensive and Japan quickly shook his head, his bangs swaying over his eyes.

"No. I want to increase trade with you... I- I don't want to become like Canada-san. Not yet, anyways. I saw him the other day with France. He was upset nobody seemed to speak French that much in one of his provinces, but mostly Asian languages. He seemed sad. Not being part of his family again. I- I just don't want to forget you, China."

China's face softened and he reached out and clutched the younger and shorter nation in a fierce hug. No matter what did happen in the ever-changing world and family, at least they had an ancestry, they had memories, and they had family.


	3. Chapter 3: Pandas for oil

Topic: Trade deal between China and Canada, pandas for oil

China picked up the small panda and brought it to the cute blond. He was very happy that the blond knew how to take care of it perfectly, having his own bear in his arms most of the day. Now that China reflected on it, there was nobody better to let hold his beloved fluffy pets.

Canada smiled shyly at the bear, holding it to his chest and hiding his features in the white section of the fur.

"He's so cute."

"Quite. He's the fluffiest one, aru. He's also the biggest so I find him hard to carry. But you shouldn't have a problem, aru."

Canada seemed to beam at the attention that at least someone paid attention to him. How did he not think of this relationship before? Yes, China was full of life and almost too energetic for his tastes, but they had something common to bond over. Bears.

"Careful the git doesn't bite your head off. He's still a communist."

Canada's eyes went wide as he turned around to find England leaning against a nearby tree. China turned himself away and picked up another panda.

"This is Ming. She's the sweetest but also shy. I think you two will be good together, aru. Oh, and don't feed them maple syrup. They don't like sugar."

"What about pancakes?"

Canada slowly put the panda he was holding down to take hold of the younger girl one China held out.

China smiled, turned around, then murmured something about Western foods.

England heard this and didn't take it too lightly. And he was thankful Italy and France weren't around. It got messy when you told the two their food was bad.

"At least I don't take things from a boy with promises of fluffy animals, you git."

China stopped, turned, and twitched. It was a mutual agreement between the two nations, nothing that involved England.

"England-san, I recommend getting out of my country, aru."

China crossed his arms, and his glare sent a few young panda scurrying away. England stood firm on his spot.

"Better than the Treaty of Nanking."

"That was in bloody 1842. Canada was still my child then! It was the Opium war. A war, you git!"

"And Canada saved you multiple times so during the World Wars so I think he knows what a war is like."

Canada blushed at the mention and spoke softly.

"You knew about that?"

China looked sheepish for a moment.

"Japan did thorough reports..."

"Oh..."

Canada sat down and began to pet girl panda, Ming. He would have tried to stop England but that always went badly for him. It was best just to sit out.

After the two older countries bickered it seemed like China won, a smile on his face and references to tea fresh on his voice. England's face grew red in rage and he looked around. After passing Canada multiple times he noticed the nation and marched over. Canada gave a small and hopeful smile.

"England-san, is something wrong? I'm old enough to trade."

"Why with him and not your brother?"

Canada shifted awkwardly before speaking.

"Koma- Kom-"

Canada couldn't remember the name so he eventually moved past it.

"My polar bear said I got new people from all over but he was lonely. And America already gets a lot of my oil. But he's getting broke... You fight with France-san all the time, so what's the difference if I like China-san more and the Asian family?"

England blinked and looked like he was just slapped in the face.

"You literally tried to kill him during his War of Independence. All you did was sign a deal with me. You didn't even want me. In 1812 I burnt down the White House. He thought he could just come in and steal all my things. And you and France just watched. But when you were getting hurt in World War One I had to save you. I feel so forgotten."

Canada felt tears prickle his eyes and the panda bear nuzzled his cheek. He gave a small smile at it and stood up.

"China-san, I'll send the oil as soon as I get back."

"Aru. Take Ming and the other. Just make sure the don't eat British food."

England erupted in curses and China said something about 'Canada being damn lucky he grew up in France's house or else he'd be as tasteless as America'.

Canada left the two bickering nations, one panda on his back and the other in front.

~extended ending~

When Canada came back home he placed the pandas in his house and went to find blankets. They were drowsy from their trip. When he came back there was three...

He counted a few more times then frowned ever so slightly. Three? But he only came back with two...

Canada then noticed one had uneven likes between the black and white spots. He picked up the larger bear and hauled him into the bathtub. He turned it on and after an hour of vigorous scrubbing and a lot of bubbles, his bear was back to being a pure white.

"Why'd you do that? It takes a lot of work to bring you back. Remember when we visited British-Columbia-chan and you and the black bear were bleached and inked. It took days to get you two to your right color."

The polar bear looked a little put back by Canada's lecture, albeit the nation only spoke in a soft voice. The bear then hung his head.

"I don't mind not being remembered. But I don't like being replaced."

Canada felt his heart shatter and he shook his head.

"I could never replace you. They're friends for you."

"For me?"

"Yes."

The polar bear's eyes went wide and he smiled. He then scampered out of the bathtub to play with his new 'friends', still dripping wet and coated in bubbles. Canada gave a small laugh at the sight. At least he could make one person happy that day.


	4. Chapter 4: Afghan war

**A/N: thanks for all the reviews that happened so quickly. Especially knowledgeandimagination. Thanks for the motivation, you guys ^^**

**A/N: this one is mostly Canada with lots of his thoughts, so, enjoy... Is that too sadistic to say in this case?**

Canada watched his hair fly in the smothering dry and hot air. Blood clamped pieces together, his breath left in pants, his uniform torn. His body was covered in blood, acting as a glue to the sand. These were the wars he hated the most. Because they weren't wars. He couldn't fight back, the gun remained almost unused.

And now, it didn't seem much different. When they were told it became a war there was a silence in the room. Fighting for their lives over the lives of the villagers in these rural towns. They weren't being hurt, their own people were safe, but here they were.

He watched the rookies, the one who never believed they'd be sent overseas. The new parents, glancing at worn photos of their beloved across the oceans.

Canada pulled up his scarf over his mouth, keeping the sand from the inside of his mouth. Around him he heard people kick open doors, check for people, secure the location.

A certain call-out made him perk up. He looked up to find a family being pulled out of a house. Their language was foreign, their clothes tattered, their faces showing fear.

Canada gulped, and proceeded to check for weapons. When finding none he looked down at the deep brown and tearful eyes of a young girl.

He lowered his eyesight before turning away, his worn gun clutched in hand, his eyes watering from flecks of sand. How he wanted to escape. These people had to live in these conditions, but after years of bloodshed, watching coffins carried off with a Canadian flag, the tears glistening in young eyes, and his people looking at maps with that puzzled gaze, trying to find Afghanistan on a map to know where their family had died, he wanted it to end.

It was overwhelming and at times the Canadian was lost. Did he want to be there or not? He saw so many fearful faces such as that Afghan girl, but the faces of his own people had a much greater effect.

He took the advice given to him by his parenting nations so long ago. Just take it one assignment at a time. One mission at once. An order per thought. But that was different. He was fighting for the lives of his people and family. Here, right now...

He felt guilt stir up in his stomach and he closed his eyes and shook his head. He just couldn't. He couldn't back down now. He told everybody he'd take the assignment, help these people out. Because they needed the help. But then, surrounded by parenting nations, the strongest, the most supportive of him, he was sure of himself. He had witnessed some of the worst events that could happen to his people. Bloody faces cracked and others stepping over bodies, bullets plunging through flesh. Almost dead soldiers being dragged out from prison camps, and then the home front. The children who looked past Canada when they came home, trying to find those family members who they had said good-bye to before. Most of them didn't find them.

How the verses of Flander's field were etched into his mind, the sound of bullets not only from war but gun salutes. It was such a bloody cycle. Perhaps that was why he longed to be back home. Because after the pain, the sorrow, past the point of nightmares plaguing him with memories, he could look around at the people, and know they wouldn't vanish.

Here, he tried not to be connected. France once told him to never do anything more than be a comrade. When Canada asked why, his being still innocent, France chocked up and clutched the boy close. He then told his son one day he'd find out. And oh how Canada had found out.

He felt a hand clamp on his shoulder as a message to continue moving. Canada nodded and walked with the rest of his group, piling into the vehicle.

He tried to stay away from the windows, away from sand which kept getting caught beneath his glasses. He wiped them on a cloth he kept inside his uniform. Around him people spoke, a small shiver of happiness escaping through when after two weeks of going through villages they were heading back to base. Where they didn't have to sleep clutching guns, and where they could sleep soothingly for awhile.

Canada sat silent, curled up in a corner, fingers brushing over the deathly weapon in his grasp. But the ride wasn't smooth, the very reason he positioned himself in a corner. He may not have the wisdom of the other nations for battles, but over years and multiple missions, he became skilled in African and the Middle Eastern terrain. Survival was a primal instinct after all. And having your head bashed into metal every few seconds defeated that.

There was a loud sound being heard over everyone's talking and the rattling of their vehicle. Curses filled the mouth of the nearest one to the window. Canada instantly flung himself there to see what happened as the brakes were slammed on, lurching them all forward.

And there, among the sand and setting sun, in a blaze of orange and red, covered in a thick smoke, was another vehicle. Mangled, broken, nothing moving. The air cracked from the intensity of the flames and Canada jumped out of the vehicle. But his mind knew the truth all along.

He felt someone hold him back as flames leaped out and licked their combat boots. He knew they were all gone, either killed by the shock waves of the land mine, the rolling of the truck, or the fire. There was nothing he could do.

Canada felt tears drip down his cheeks, washing away the sweat which coated him. It wasn't supposed to end like this for them. They were dying before reaching the enemy, before making a difference. But this was what they signed up for...

The last line came from cold hard reality. The same reality which made him usher everyone back in as they once more left. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if they too would join the fate the others had met. Canada's thoughts were miles away. Not only were those men and women dead, but the souls of the family may as well have burned also. Because that's what it felt like. That was one thing he could speak surely of.

When they finally touched base their faces were solemn. Someone took it upon themselves to report the deaths and they all were given a few hours before having to create status reports of what happened.

Canada tugged off his boots and clothes until he was in his army pants and white shirt which he wore underneath. It had blood stains and with a sigh he changed into fresh clothes. Once done he laid down on the thin mattress and reached into the sole bag he brought along.

He pulled out a small book and felt his eyes tear up as he knew what was inside. He flipped through pages and pages of photos, some family, some friends, some of his homeland. It seemed each place was worlds apart.

This death filled, chocking haze of war was poison. And it would affect him even when he got home. He longed for the days when he was a boy, not yet a nation. When he'd spend all day playing with France, sleeping in his arms whenever a storm was outside.

When France came back, bloodied and wounded, Canada would jump up in shock and do everything he could possibly do to help the Frenchman. As years progressed, the Canadian knew he had to do more than sit and wait. He had to fight and help France in the front lines. As more years passed, he learnt it wasn't only his small North American and European family that needed help. So he jumped into the front lines of other continents, always accepting any peace mission the United Nations handed out.

Perhaps he never proved himself to be a fighter to England when they simply signed off on his becoming a nation, instead of the war America held. But very soon he was recognized for being a strong and persevering fighter.

With a deep sigh, he slipped the book away and sat up. He pulled on his jacket and boots and began walking out of the room and down the hallway, his eyes downcast, his thoughts filled to the brim with sorrow.

"Yo! The Hero is here! With some NATO back-up!"

Canada merely shook his head. Now he was imagining things. Although, that sounded so much like what America would say. He could almost imagine the strong pose America would hold, his eyes shining in determination. But he was used to fighting such wars alone. Surely it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he couldn't deny the urge to look...

He turned around and his eyes widened at the sight which met him. Everyone else blurred and soon his arms clutched around his brother nation. He then let it all out. His sobs broke through parched lips, his eyes closing, his English turning back to his first language of French. And holding that mumbling, sobbing, hysteric, French-speaking Canadian was America. He staid silent for once, not having anything else to say. He couldn't bring his brother back home, he couldn't even save the day though he'd try damn hard to do so. He could only hope to lift the burden placed on the nation, make victory seem closer, and overall have his brother home sooner.

"Bro, I have some even better news."

Canada looked up, eyes wet and lost. America then gave a grin.

"We can all go back home soon. When it's 2014, we'll all be home."

Canada slowly let a smile slip onto his lips. He wanted to scream in happiness. Finally, he finally could tell his comrades when they could go home, what date they could circle on their calendar. Even though that date was far off, could easily be erased and put out by the governments and military, at least he had hope. And there under his arms was another. A being who'd bring him support, one who would be the one to watch his back, or the other way around knowing his 'hero' brother. But hey, every war needed one. Even if his hero was rash, loud, slightly obnoxious, and probably had no idea what continent he was even in. But as long as he was there, Canada would rest easy for the first time since arriving in the war zone.

**A/N: sorry if I insulted anybody here, anybody from the Middle East or where such conflicts happen. I'm proud of Canada going out and accepting all these peace missions. But right here, I watched my friend's eyes become soulless when she received the news that her father was injured over seas. I watch people who on November 11 (Canadian remembrance day) cry and sob over people they lost overseas, and for family still there. I look in the news and read stories of our fallen troops. I see Canada as a loving nation, but war changes people. Such doubts are sure to happen in the mind of a troop... **


	5. Chapter 5: Swiss Fraud

**A/N: This** **one is about Switzerland more or less. I just imagine their pride going with this case that happened two weeks ago or so *sweatdrop***

"1.2 Billion? With a 'B'? Dollars or Euros?"

"Yes, and the currency is dollars. The American dollar to be exact."

With the economy the way it was the Swiss man didn't know where to sigh or sob. How could this have happened? He built his entire country on banking, and now, fraud? For 1.2 billion dollars? Filed by America? Now, Switzerland was neutral, so he kept his thoughts to himself and respectfully stood his ground. He couldn't play favourites or even hate people any differently then how he hated or liked anybody else. Except Liechtenstein, but she was different. She was like his little sister, and his country was so well mixed with hers, he subbed in for her on multiple world meetings. Nobody had a problem with that, but the event with Belgium made him unsettled. Years ago during the World War, Belgium claimed neutrality. They were invaded by German forces because they favourited England, not exactly being neutral.

The Swiss man eventually shifted in his seat, glancing at Liechtenstein who sat next to him in the sleek office of the American lawyer, he believed the man was. Or the man may be a representative, it didn't matter now.

Liechtenstein shared his glance and offered a soothing smile. Switzerland glanced away and his brow furrowed slightly.

He numbly shifted through the papers and felt his pride fall lower each time. The bank was set up in 1741, and was the oldest one the man could remember off the top of his head.

"Mr- sir," Switzerland had to change his approach when he didn't even know the man's name.

"I understand this is of concern to you. And I will cooperate with you. But you can't assume I have any part of this and you can't assume I was in agreement to this."

Switzerland's hand twitched as he realized he had to leave all his weapons of the room. It was like the 780 million dollar case all over again in 2009. Why couldn't the Americans just use a bank properly? He didn't have any other problems with other nations.

"Well, sir, you are in charge of all the banks and your file was passed over our desk in 2008 and 2009, so it's only safe to assume that-"

"Safe? You think this is playing safe? Why don't you people learn how to bank properly? If my bank goes to your country, it's your job to make sure they don't plan fraud."

Switzerland felt a small hand take his and he calmed down slightly at the touch. He held it loosely back before returning the paper to the desk in front of him.

"I don't like the way your assumptions work, sir. Good day."

Switzerland tried terribly hard to be polite and quickly pulled Liechtenstein out of the office. He kept glancing over his shoulder before sliding his two guns back into their holsters. He kept a firm grip on his little sister as he pushed her firmly along, weaving through the crowds in the gleaming city. He honestly and truthfully hated it. Too many people for his liking, and too many with guns...

He paused for a brief moment and smirked at what people around him were carrying. America may have 'the right to bear arms', but people who visited Switzerland would say everyone had an assault riffle in their basement... Switzerland himself had multiple... No wonder they were such poor bankers, they lacked in everything...

Liechtenstein sat on the last step to the basement of the house, watching her older companion shoot targets quickly, switching flawlessly and easily between guns. So far, he only let the comment of his situation being a 'problem which I'd go to England to fix and knock some sense into America but I'm neutral'.

"Do you know why I didn't let France anywhere near here with Canada?"

The question seemed sudden but to Switzerland it was his anger slowly boiling over and it all made sense in his head where he was in furious debate over himself.

"Because you said I didn't want to date him and-"

"No. Because he was brothers with America. How hard is it to honestly properly work a bank? Maybe he should deal with everybody in his country committing fraud before he comments on me. I was banking and dealing with nations before he was even born. Before he was even discovered."

Liechtenstein watched the Swiss man triple-tap a target in the shape of a person, two to the heart and one to the head. She had the sinking feeling the older nation would have wanted that to be America.

Liechtenstein then heard footsteps and her eyes darted upwards. She then grimaced and heard a gun cock, an arm pushing her behind the person. She didn't move as Switzerland kept his gun trained on the intruder. He swore if it was America he'd shoot.

Instead, it was England. It was the first time the nation came into his basement, a.k.a. personal weapon's room.

Switzerland put his gun down as England sat half way down on the steps.

"There's no need for a bloody gun."

"It'll be bloody soon enough if this is about America."

"... Alright. He's an idiot, we both know that. But sometimes people mess up. It wasn't you, it was three idiots who believed they could mess with your reputation. Your fight's with them... Besides, I'm the only person who can call him that. He's MY idiot."

England had a line of bitterness in his words and he watched Switzerland open a closet. The Englishman tensed and ached for his own gun he'd keep slung around his waist during his pirate days.

When Switzerland pulled out a pink pig, he tilted his head slightly. The younger nation put it on the step next to England and England saw it was a piggy bank.

England couldn't help but chuckle at Switzerland slightly insulting yet honest attempt at making bonds smoothed over between him and America.

"I see..."

England tried to hold back his laughing as he picked the pig up and told his goodbyes. Switzerland nodded to himself on the bottom of the steps. Yes, this would be much for America.

"Brother, how do you expect America to keep 1.2 billion dollars in there?"

Switzerland merely shushed her with a small glance. It may not work, but a man could very well hope that it would.


	6. Chapter 6: American school shooting

There was no other way to put it. He failed.

America couldn't look at his reflection in the mirror anymore, he fell so quiet England had asked if he was okay. But what could he truly respond? Nothing could fix what had happened.

A hero was meant to save people. Give them hope, take away fear, and save the day. Bravely. Proudly. Brilliantly, as England would say. Beautifully, as France would say. Japan said honourably, China said without failure. Each nation had their words to describe the person who they would call a hero. America failed it all.

When he was a child, the image of a hero astounded him. He grew up among two of the strongest empires, and surfaced after the second World War to become the world's super power. He fought off Russia, set himself up internationally, then went on to save the day... Or at least that's what he would say.

Maybe it's because he never needed a hero that he thought one should always come. England hated him, yes, but the Englishman would always strike back if he was insulted. Canada was babied by France, and when Canada clung to his brother, France would protect the two. That was their childhood.

America always told himself he was the hero. But now, he realized how untrue that was. Finally sitting down and thinking, he remembered the cold war. The fear that each of his fellow Americans had, the way he couldn't save them. The only possible way to go down as a hero would be to press that button to shoot right back at Russia.

But even then, he always let others take the fall. He remembered Canada's horror as he realized there was the chance of missiles going over his land. Canada could look meek, but he was strong and loyal to his people. He set up dozens of bases whose sole reason was to detect these missiles. He made intricate maps of when and if America would be hit, depending on location, how his people would be affected. Canada stepped up, just like he always had. Even during the World War, Canada stood up first.

But if he was to be jealous, it would be of England. The man who fought through the pirate ages, medieval ages, always strong, growing, powerful. Ruling the seas after they defeated the Spanish on the water, becoming the empire who the sun never set on simply because he was that large. Taking control of Europe, India, North America and many more. The man was a legend. Even now, his monarchy was known through out the world, his sword dug deep in his land and his hands still clutched to it. He was a man who always came back up and believed in himself. The man who inspired America to be strong. What would either of them say to him now?

He simply couldn't give children the dream they wanted of a hero. He wasn't there to protect then like England had to him. He saw their faces wherever he looked. The young children clutching the others as they were ushered to safety. The families as they received the news that their children were now laying underneath black material which cloaked them from light.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. Especially not a school. Not a place which was part of governmental power. It was so wrong.

When America went to school, it was British. England sent him to the best, and as much as America was decent in his studies, he slacked off. In turn his country was quite low when it came to the G20's student scores. England had been falling from where he stood centuries ago, and France was nothing too special. The special one was Canada. Always loved by that wine drinking, flirting, Frenchman and spoiled to his heart's content until taken away by England. And that made the Frenchman fall into even more guilt. Maybe Canada didn't seek attention because he didn't need anymore.

In comparison, America's problem was him wanting to be the hero. But for the bodies of children who laid six feet under, the fact was that a hero never came.

For the American history dyed in red, massacres in schools making the news every few years, his pride was tarnished.

He could handle wars, natural disasters, even when Russia tried to bite his head off during the cold war. But what he couldn't handle was failing. Especially the people who would have believed in such a hero.

His bitter thoughts twisted as he slowly put the flowers down on the memorial for those children. News shot through the nation and such memorials were all over. He looked up at the pictures of the smiling children and tried not to cry.

"I'm sorry I wasn't a good enough hero. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Later Germany would slam down on the table and tell America to shape up, the guy was a psycho path who murdered those children. Canada would chime in with his sweet remarks of America being too upset. France would murmur about gun violence, sip his wine, and look at Switzerland. Switzerland would blame the America society, glancing at the Asian family. Japan looked a few pales lighter, his thoughts on what would have happened if he was hit similar. China would put his arms around his little brother and for once the Japanese man didn't fight it. Italy said it wad sad, Romano adding to it. They didn't understand it to the details the other countries did. Russia's face wouldn't be filled with a dark aura, children were always innocent. England called it a grave event and many other nations agreed with heartfelt sincerity.

But none of those words or actions could fix the past. None of them could fix how America had failed his people. Perhaps it wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it made a deep scar in his heart.


	7. Chapter 7: Mali

**Hmm, my global times series is 'modern' news stories. So could we allow a few flash backs come through? **

**Oh, and perhaps this is hinted Franada? And for my second oh, Mali will become be an oc... **

**Note to potential Malian readers, yup, I had to google your location. So don't flame if I get your oc wrong. **

When France fought, he'd start elegantly. When he ended though, if he had not won, he lost hard. And during the times of conquer and colonization, fights were becoming a daily problem. He'd spend days fighting off Britain over old treaties, not losing or winning anything in particular. He'd swing his blade down at descendants of Germania and Rome. Eventually it was as if he was facing the world. Surrounded by allies, enemies, and now with some of his greatest enemies oceans away where he knew nothing of them.

When France grew up, he was the older brother to many European nations. He had multiple colonies, some he cared more for than the others, Canada was by far his favourite. Acadia was his show of strength against Britain until she vanished among the turmoils of war. He saw so much of her sweet eyes in Canada...

But his power was so much more expanded. Haiti, parts of Syria, large sections of Eastern Africa, all the way to some sections of China and Louisiana in America. He simply couldn't be an older brother or father figure to all of them. After all, China was at his throat when the Frenchman invaded and 'kidnapped his little siblings', as the Asian had put it.

Canada and America came at a time when once the war was done, France could hang up his uniform and rest a few days with his violet-eyed baby at his side. He slowed down after that, becoming a father to his French and English baby. Once Canada had been a nation and nations all over the world formed together, France's swords and uniforms were hung up for years on end. And that was the way he liked it.

He still remembered when he came back from Acadia after losing her to Britain for the first time. He couldn't sleep, his shoulders shook from tears, and he didn't even dress his wounds. The next time he had the chance, he stabbed Britain clean through. He impaled the Englishman, watched his bloody body twist in pain, and whisk his Acadia away. Such events happened six times before she seemed to have vanished.

He had argued and unsheathed his sword in arguments over Africa with England. Oh how that continent had suffered. Among the three conquering nations of Spain, Britain, and France, few among the empires that survived, Africa was a test of strength and one for show. When England declared he sent troops to India, France remembered Spain gripping his shoulders as the Spaniard could barely contain his laughter. Now, Spain regretted not fighting enough over India. Least to say, he'd look at economic reports with a wavering eye and wanted to burn all those papers which stated a full nation's lifespan.

One of those nations France had noted in the back of his head was Mali. Mali was a little nation in terms of global power. During times when France simply wished life would be more simple, as was before, he simply didn't have time of the day to look after every nation who had left him. When Mali gained independence, he merely sighed and crossed a name off the list. That was all. None of the screaming, bloody, heart-shattering moments of his beloved European or North American colonies had provided him. And he felt guilt for this. But he didn't have time to ponder. Except for now.

France stared at the map of Africa until his mind had drifted off in thought, trying to remember Mali. Mali was a young boy when they first met. His dark skin sweating under the sun, his body showing signs of the hardships he faced even at that young age. He was overcome by all the pride and power France had stormed through the country with. France merely gave a smug smirk, mentally trying to find words to describe his victory to his Angleterre.

When they met again, Mali had grown into a tough young man. Unrefined, yes, but physically strong, human wise, not nation wise. It made Francis surprised, until learning that the man had joined the military then quit. Was a nation even allowed staying out of his own military problems? Francis shook the thought away as he stretched, a pain forming in the back of his head.

Mali didn't hate France historically, France was still the man who had awed and inspired the once young boy. What he hated was how neglected he had become. France didn't continue the conversation. They hardly spoke except for the problem of illegal immigrants. And then France was only matched by a door slammed in his face.

Eventually, something snapped. Perhaps the guilt of leaving Mali alone all those years, but he seemed capable, France murmured. Or maybe from the stress Mali was providing him. Or maybe he just wanted to dig into the problem. Regardless, he had deployed his troops to Mali. To help the once young boy with problems that riveted many areas of the surrounding locations. Terrorists, rebels, dear god these people couldn't hold their own people down. But thoughts of what happened during Robespierre's reign made his mouth close instantly.

This was war he was watching from his window, not going to risk his entire military for one lost colony of his.

The Frenchman heard the door open and with tired eyes he turned to see his young boy, glasses perched on his nose and the polar bear ever faithfully in his arms.

"Papa?"

Canada tilted his head ever so slightly and asked in his soft voice. France thought for a moment about his colonies. The refined European ones who knew he would lose them soon enough, the African ones who didn't see any of it as a difference to them, the Asians- France let a small shiver go down his spine- which China just about slaughtered him for taking. But they were accepting enough. The new world, with La Belle Province marked on Canadian maps, it was so much different then the suffering child he once saw.

Holding an arm out, he felt his child sit next to him, the younger male resting his head on the elder's shoulder.

"Papa, I heard you went to Mali."

"Oui... Did I ever tell you about him?"

"Non."

"Ah, then let's do so. You, mon chouchou, always go from one country to the next for peace missions. This is... somewhat similar. Let me tell you a story."

By the time France's usually sultry voice faded into the air he looked down and found Canada clutching his shirt.

"Why'd you leave him?"

The Canadian looked betrayed himself and France stroked the blond silky strands of hair from his child's face.

"Croyez-moi, it wasn't as simple as you'd like it to be."

"You'll get hurt again."

Canada's clutch on France could be considered lethal and France made soothing noises before his young ex-colony shifted into a state of half sleepiness.

"Will you help me, Canada?"

"No..."

Canada's voice was half away from him fading into a nap like he had done his entire life next to France. France's eyes went a wider at the news and asked again.

"Just some help?"

"No... You'll get hurt, papa."

"Canada, please, we'll help the world."

Canada shook his head then slowly raised a hand and made a small sliver with them.

"Only these many. One week only. That's all."

"Merci, mon enfant."

Canada gave a tired nod and France wondered if it was only agreed upon because his child was so tired. France looked one last time in those violet eyes, picked up his child in his arms, legs swung over the side of the couch, and softly kissed the boy's cheek. It was an action that was done so many times between the two, but something that wouldn't reach a place like Mali. Maybe he should have spent more time with the African nation, but if he had, the problem the majority of Africa, he couldn't exactly pull all his ex-colonies away when most of them cursed with his name. He sighed loud enough to make his child toss in his mostly-asleep-but-not-yet-dreaming state.

He stroked the silky hair and kissed the pale skin before humming a faint song, Canada's ageless lullaby.

"Car ton bras sait porter l'épée...,

Ton histoire est une épopée

Des plus brillants exploits."

Even though it was his New World nation in his arms, he couldn't help but think, if Mali had been in his arms, would it have been any different? Would Mali still be as stable as it was deemed years ago, a force worth reckoning with?

As his fingertips ghosted the well-kept and European blooded skin, he couldn't help but believe that maybe deep down, this was all his fault.

"Papa, there's nothing you can do."

The murmur was sleepy and France gave a small smile as he grabbed Canada's hand after it finished rubbing the eyes underneath the glasses. Slipping said glasses off for his child, France merely shook his head. There was always something people could do, but wether it would make a difference was up for debate.

"Mon enfant, I've had the worst happen because I've neglected my colonies. Did I ever tell you of your elder sister?"

Canada perked up and France soothed him back to sleep with his stories. Maybe it was best this way. There was no way he could occupy one nation without neglecting dozens of others...

France sighed and then closed his eyes mid-story. He heard Canada's faint breathing as thoughts of the Malian boy filled his mind. Why did he feel so guilty over one he never should cared that much for in the beginning?

He fell asleep like he had done countless times before, his ex-colony wrapped in a locked position around the stomach from the Frenchman's arms. He had fallen asleep to the scent of maple syrup, but through out his dreams, it was the smell of mined salt which followed him.


	8. Chapter 8: Penny Williams RIP

_She was always there,_

_Loyal and understanding,_

_Her copper hair reflecting in the sun,_

_Her teasing smile always pushing him further,_

_Just like him she had been ignored,_

_Annoying most and pushed to the back of their minds,_

_He grew up at her side, _

_Always talking to her,_

_Always playing with her when he found himself alone._

_She was born much after him,_

_But together they made a glorious nation,_

_And now... Now... She was..._

Matthew felt tears prick his eyes, his glasses slipping down his nose. He looked back at the shining members of the girl's family, how was he supposed to tell them this? That he- his people- had outcasted their youngest daughter. The mother staring up at him with golden hair shining brightly, the husband looking in all regality with golden hair with silver streaks. [6]

Matthew let his head fall on the top of his desk, pulling off his glasses with one hand.

In the corners of his mind his senses managed to conceive the thought that someone had entered the room. A light tapping of a heel was heard and then a sliding sound. He heard the taps of five small metal pieces hitting others. The small tap of a jar being placed down was soon ended by the louder thud of someone sitting on the table he was placing his head against.

"Your bear is dyed black."

"He's mourning. Grieving. Denial. Anger-"

"Alright, I get the bloody idea."

Matthew didn't need to look up to know who the thick British accent belonged to. Arthur Kirkland.

"Alfred's can't handle his money, Wang's buying you out. Greece is broke, [1] and now you're talking to a bunch of coins... That damned frog influenced you, didn't he?"

Matthew looked up through misty eyes. The one time his second father (since Francis was always his Papa), paid attention to him, it was to call him crazy. Or broke. Or maybe both.

"Arthur, I- I, it's not those coins I'm talking to."

Arthur held his face serious until Matthew burst into a new wave of tears. The Englishman then began to feel a tinge of guilt. And another. And then another...

Arthur slipped off the table then put a finger on Matthew's chin. Lifting the younger man's chin up, he softly wiped the tears away. Just like he had to America before the revolutionary war. Just like what Brittania did to him.

When the younger one sniffled and his tears became dry, England ruffled his hair and left for a few moments. Matthew didn't even notice.

He came back carrying two teacups and he placed on in front of Matthew.

"Why don't you tell me what the problem is. And if it involves Francis or Alfred, I'll happily torture- um, make them apologize."

The British-born gave a smile, and a dark aura seemed to seep over him. Matthew was too upset to notice.

"I- she was amazing! We did everything together for the last 137 years. She was so upbeat and we fit in together because nobody realized when we went missing. She was always so much fun. And now- now- now she's g-gone."

Matthew choked out the last word, almost unable to through his now dry throat. He felt Arthur pet his hair and then look hopeful.

"Did Francis introduce you to her? Because I'll make him pay-"

"Honhonhon~ Mon petit cheri has a girlfriend. And I was not informed?"

Matthew looked up with red puffy eyes at the voice. Before he could even see who it was clearly he threw himself at the speaker of those French, sultry-sounding words.

"Papa! I miss her!"

Arthur murmured some curses as Francis crouched down to match his son's height.

"There are always more women. Better ones. I know it's hard because she's your first love- I think...- but you'll do fine finding another. After all, you are my son."

Francis gave a seductive smirk but was soon knocked sideways by a heavy object. The piggybank who's coins were previously being spoken to by Matthew.

"Stop! Penny loved that!"

Matthew's voice was still in it's usual whisper-like pitch, but Francis knew his son well. He caught the porcelain container, murmuring about Arthur needing to play less cricket and more football. [2]

Arthur began going into an uproar and before Matthew knew it he was in the midst of a fight over Arthur being a black sheep and who knows what else from the Pirate ages.

Matthew slowly moved away, unnoticed, and sat on his couch. He then saw a small glimmer. Looking down he pulled out a small copper-tinted coin from underneath a cushion.

Maybe Penny would never leave him. They spent so many years together, they made each other important, and at the very end, she stood up strong for him and the rest of his piggybank...

Matthew was so deep in thought, a smile spreading on his lips, as Francis leaned over the top of your cushions.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"You know, I think I'll keep the penny."

Francis looked perplexed as he watched his son pick up the piggybank and place it on it's rightful shelf. The boy then out the penny up on a shelf, next to old maps of capitals, ones which weren't yet Ottawa [3]. Next to the original plans for the Rideau Canal [4] and the photograph of the last stake being placed in the railway lines [5]. On that shelf Matthew placed the small coin, a small item truly, one which he probably had hundreds of laying around, but it was a piece of history. A piece of his life. And so, he would keep it there. And every so often he'd pick it up and look at it again. And every so often Francis would ask about this 'Penny' women, and Arthur would say it was Francis's fault for bringing women home when Matthew was a child.

But Matthew would smile, and when Alfred used a penny, that small rhyme always left his mouth.

_See a penny, pick it up,_

_All day long you'll have good luck._

_Give it to a faithful friend,_

_Then your luck will never end._

**~In memory of Penny Williams (The Canadian Penny). Born 137 years ago, and died today on February 4th, 2013.~**

[1] America is constantly in debt... Honestly, the PM of Canada had to go and tell their President this... *sigh* Alfred, manage your piggybank.

China recently bought a large oil company which was originally Canadian. Canadian oil is a large part of how Canada makes money. *cough*Wanggoaway*cough*

The European economy is down, the ones hit the hardest are Greece and Portugal. Poor Heracles *runs and huggles to death*

[2]: If you're American or Canadian, he means soccer. It's one of the most popular sports in France... I was so tempted to put in cycling... Tour de France anybody?

[3] Ottawa is the current capital of Canada. It's changed a few times.

[4] a river which freezes over and everybody can go and skate on it. I've never been on there (can't skate) but it always looks like so much fun. Viva winter!

[5] Canada was connected by a railway. Very famous moment was when the long project was complete.

[6] I know this should go first, but I thought I'd clear it up on my second reading. The 1 dollar coin is a gold colour. The 2 dollar coin (Canadian for both) is silver with a gold rim.

**A/N: to be very honest, I haven't found much world news lately to write these series with. I guess I'll take recommendations? The newspaper I always get is lacking in the world news section.**

**A/N: Sorry if this one isn't up to standards. But I wanted to finish it today so badly... **


	9. Chapter 9: pollution, China

**A/N: I know I haven't updated in ages, and this is short, but I was going through old bits of stories to sort them, and decided to finish and post some of them. **

China felt a searing heat in his lungs, a prickle down his throat, and then a horrible, almost sour smell in his nose. He gave a small cough to clear up his sudden feelings and tried to focus on what America was saying. Something about being a hero, and finally Britain interrupted.

When Britain launched into an argument with France, he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He was about to say something, hopefully successful in distracting the countries, when he gave a small cough. It wasn't much, it wasn't even noticed in the room, truly. But it made him feel like his lungs were on fire. He gripped at the table briefly to make sure he didn't fall over as he gave a few more coughs. He then tried to stand up strong and straight as he decided to leave.

Japan heard a small shuffling sound but before he could look at what made it he felt a hand clamped on his shoulder. Soon a heavier weight half collapsed on him.

"Nee-san!?"

Japan faced his elder as China fell to his knees. He had never seen the Chinese nation sick since the black plague. Nobody had.

Some instantly came to help the Asian, others stared in shock. China meanwhile tried hard to simply breathe, having to remind himself if he did it for thousands of years, he can do it a bit longer.

With some deep breaths and more help from Japan then he'd like to say, he managed to get to his feet.

"Oi, China, are you sick?"

China slowly shrugged, now fully aware of everyone stares. Had he truly showed how vulnerable he could be to the entire world like that?

"How do you not know?"

"I was fine a few minutes ago, aru~!"

To his utter surprise it was Germany who put a hand around his forehead, checking for a fever. He then shook his head and checked the Chinese man's neck for swelling. China awkwardly stood still.

"Not anything I know."

China looked disappointed, surely if Germany had heard of it there would be a cure. It wasn't exactly the most hopeful thing the German could say.

"I think I know what's wrong..."

"What?!"

America seemed to explode at a tanned nation who just entered the room. He had a thick Mexican accent and wearing bright colours which they all had clearly noted as Spanish influence.

"I was feeling pretty sick awhile back to. Just like that."

America growled before admitting to it also.

"Me to... In some places..."

"And me, ..."

China looked down to see the small Indonesian girl. He patted her head and then crouched down. He was still an older brother to the Asian nations no matter what.

The Indonesian nation looked up at him and told a similar story to what he had been feeling. Except she had a reason. Pollution.

"It affects us...?"

Some nations palled at the idea and others gave nervous coughs. Japan meanwhile, had his own thoughts. How to help his elder brother without it appearing as so.

"What would you all of you say to signing something for me?"

And placed on the table, in Japan's neat writing sat papers with the words 'Kyoto Protocol'.

**History lesson: alright, Mexico city is one of the heaviest polluted places because of the landscape. Think of it sitting in a bowl, and air (with its pollution) can't escape. Same to L.A. in America. Beijing in China, and Indonesia, and almost every huge city suffers from such fate.**

**Kyoto protocol was an agreement signed by most countries to promise to limit pollution, etc.**

**Written by a request (that happened ages ago... Sorry.)**


End file.
